Seven Long/Short Weeks
From the wife's blog:
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Seven Long/Short Weeks
Current mood: drained
Seven weeks.... 49 days... that's all it lasted.
My uncle passed away yesterday. Seven weeks exactly from the time he was diagnosed with cancer. Seven weeks....
My mom got a call from my aunt on Monday. She needed her to come down there. When Mom arrived, my uncle was sitting on the edge of his bed. He had been for a couple of hours. Just sitting. His pain too great to move. With the help of hospice (wonderful organization, by the way!), they finally got him into a hospital bed in the living room. They catheterized him and informed my aunt and mom that this was it. They expected him to pass by early Tuesday evening. My mom spent the night.
Yesterday was a waiting game. Every time my phone rang at work, I jumped. At 3:30, my sister called me. My uncle's suffering was over. He had passed away 15 minutes earlier. Mom wasn't doing so well and I felt the need to go be with her and my grandmother. I finished up the imperative items at work and left about 25 minutes later.
I entered the front door. There, in front of the fire place, was the bed and my uncle. My mom was standing just past the entry way. I hugged her and told her I loved her. She had hyper-ventilated, she told me...and was so embarassed that she fell apart. I told her it must be the twin thing - she was probably trying to breathe for the both of them.
In the kitchen, Grandmama was talking with my aunt's mom. When she saw me, she sobbed. I tried to console her - but what do you say to someone who just lost a child? Doesn't really matter how old that child is...burying your child does not fit what we think the natural progression of life should be.
The funeral home staff arrived a short-time later. We were asked if we wanted to say our final goodbyes. My mom was first. I was back holding onto Grandmama. How she didn't collapse is beyond me. Grandmama leaned over, told him she loved him and to be watching for her when God called her home. Tears fell freely from my eyes. Can't imagine telling that to one of my children! We left the room and let the funeral home do their thing.
The best part of all this is that his pain is gone. He was right with God. There was no question where he was going. Our sorrows will eventually lessen. We will miss him, but the pain will be softened. And tomorrow, tomorrow on Thanksgiving, we will be thankful. Thankful for the memories we have and for the life we shared with him. And my uncle? He will be having the best Thanksgiving he's ever had!
I love you, Ronnie! Save us a spot at that Thanksgiving feast!
Uncle Ronnie
June 18, 1943 - September 22, 2005
******
Seven Long/Short Weeks
Current mood: drained
Seven weeks.... 49 days... that's all it lasted.
My uncle passed away yesterday. Seven weeks exactly from the time he was diagnosed with cancer. Seven weeks....
My mom got a call from my aunt on Monday. She needed her to come down there. When Mom arrived, my uncle was sitting on the edge of his bed. He had been for a couple of hours. Just sitting. His pain too great to move. With the help of hospice (wonderful organization, by the way!), they finally got him into a hospital bed in the living room. They catheterized him and informed my aunt and mom that this was it. They expected him to pass by early Tuesday evening. My mom spent the night.
Yesterday was a waiting game. Every time my phone rang at work, I jumped. At 3:30, my sister called me. My uncle's suffering was over. He had passed away 15 minutes earlier. Mom wasn't doing so well and I felt the need to go be with her and my grandmother. I finished up the imperative items at work and left about 25 minutes later.
I entered the front door. There, in front of the fire place, was the bed and my uncle. My mom was standing just past the entry way. I hugged her and told her I loved her. She had hyper-ventilated, she told me...and was so embarassed that she fell apart. I told her it must be the twin thing - she was probably trying to breathe for the both of them.
In the kitchen, Grandmama was talking with my aunt's mom. When she saw me, she sobbed. I tried to console her - but what do you say to someone who just lost a child? Doesn't really matter how old that child is...burying your child does not fit what we think the natural progression of life should be.
The funeral home staff arrived a short-time later. We were asked if we wanted to say our final goodbyes. My mom was first. I was back holding onto Grandmama. How she didn't collapse is beyond me. Grandmama leaned over, told him she loved him and to be watching for her when God called her home. Tears fell freely from my eyes. Can't imagine telling that to one of my children! We left the room and let the funeral home do their thing.
The best part of all this is that his pain is gone. He was right with God. There was no question where he was going. Our sorrows will eventually lessen. We will miss him, but the pain will be softened. And tomorrow, tomorrow on Thanksgiving, we will be thankful. Thankful for the memories we have and for the life we shared with him. And my uncle? He will be having the best Thanksgiving he's ever had!
I love you, Ronnie! Save us a spot at that Thanksgiving feast!
Uncle Ronnie
June 18, 1943 - September 22, 2005
******
posted by MidwestMedic at 19:49
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